


Don't Freak Meowt

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Series: A Mewment Like This [5]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Law Student!Andrew, M/M, Neil's still confused, References to Backstory, Witness Protection, bad flirting by text, discussion of sexuality, more bad googling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 17:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: Neil can't figure out what his role is in his own life, but Andrew's role seems to be increasing.  Nicky invites Neil over for dinner, and things do not go as planned.





	Don't Freak Meowt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FoxsoulCourt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxsoulCourt/gifts).



> There are some references to Neil being self-conscious about his scars, and some social anxiety. 
> 
> Thanks again to @tntwme for the beta!

Neil really, really hated it when running brought no clarity.  
  
Running had always been his thing.  He remembered getting sent out into the back yard to run laps so that his bouncing wouldn’t attract his father’s attention.  He would run around the fenced perimeter until his little legs gave out, and then he would be safe.    
  
He had learned how to always run like it was a hobby.  Even when running for his life.  A casual runner drew no attention, could pause and duck into a store and nobody would think anything of it.  His pursuers were never quite smart enough to figure that out.  The metronomic rhythm of his feet against pavement, against dirt, against gravel; it all sounded different but it was all the same.  A heartbeat in his feet.  
  
Maybe the treadmill was the problem.  He’d been coming to the gym all winter; the gray slush on the sidewalks was an injury hazard and even he preferred not to run when the air hurt his lungs.  But he hated the hollow sound of his feet hitting the treadmill, and running nowhere wasn’t the same; it felt like a metaphor.  The aptness of said metaphor just made it worse.  
  
He checked the little computer on the machine:  twelve miles.  No wonder he was starting to feel it a little.  But the evening yawned open in front of him, and he didn’t want to step into its maw.  Funny how after just three days of Something Different suddenly six months of comfortable routine seemed impossible to face.  
  
It had been easy to imagine he would like being on his own when it was an impossibility.  When every movement was watched, tracked, judged.  When the wrong twitch had earned him a scar, the wrong word a beating.  Or during the skin-crawling claustrophobia of living in FBI custody, his life limited to online university and an ever-changing rotation of agents who had drawn the short straw, punctuated by sitting in courtroom after courtroom.  
  
When the U.S. Marshal tasked with him had handed him the keys to his apartment and car, it had seemed like a dream.  He had their ridges imprinted in his memory, would still find his finger tracing the patterns in his palm.  He had always been a prisoner: to his father, to his mother, to his fears, to the government.  He wasn’t stupid enough to think he was truly free now; if he tried to bolt the FBI would be on him before he could get fifty miles.  But it was more real than it had ever been before, more real than the stolen illusion running had given him.  
  
Freedom.  It was not something designed for people like him.  Or perhaps he was not designed for it.   
  
Thirteen miles.  Practically a full half-marathon.  He slowed the treadmill to a walking pace and reached for his towel.  He didn’t mind getting sweaty but he hated the cold, clammy feeling of his clothes clinging to him afterwards.    
  
Nicky came over as soon as he stopped the treadmill, concern on his kind face.  “You okay, Neil?”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Okay.  You just don’t usually run that long.”  
  
Neil sighed.  “Just…mixing it up, I guess.”  
  
“Well, in that case, how about you mix it up some more and come over tomorrow night?  You haven’t been over in weeks, Erik keeps bugging me to invite you for dinner.”  
  
Neil hesitated.  He liked Nicky most of the time, even if he was a bit overwhelming.  But he’d been hoping Andrew would find time for this…whatever.  They hadn’t talked in the past couple of days beyond a few random texts.  He wasn’t totally sure why that bothered him.  “Sure, Nicky.  That sounds good.”  
  
Nicky beamed and talked excitedly about a new movie they had just gotten while Neil sipped his water.  When Nicky’s services were needed by someone who was about to seriously injure himself being a jackass with the weights, Neil made his escape.    
  
His phone showed no new messages.  He nearly threw it back into the locker and went to take a shower.  Maybe he was just hungry, he thought, as he toweled off.  That was a thing, right?  Hangry, or something?  Sara always blamed her bad moods on it.  He ate a granola bar and though he felt a little steadier, nothing else changed.  
  
King’s frantic greeting made him smile.  She sat on his shoulder as he stir-fried the rest of the ingredients in his fridge.  He still kind of hated vegetables but soy sauce made everything better.  Calling up another Tagalog podcast, he listened while he ate, giving King a few bites of his chicken.  She liked soy sauce too.  
  
Three hours passed, and his phone was still silent.  Maybe it was all in his head, that crazy moment where he had thought Andrew was going to kiss him the other night.  That even crazier moment where he thought maybe he wanted him to.    
  
He didn’t really know how this was supposed to go.  Andrew had said if it wasn’t a yes it was a no; but how did he go from “I don’t know” to “yes”?  WITSEC had given him a lot of information about assimilating into the world, but somehow dating advice was not included.  Maybe they had assumed he already knew; after all, he’d been almost nineteen when he had turned himself in.  But nineteen and having been on the run with his mother for eight years was not the same as _nineteen_.    
  
Or maybe they just didn’t care.  He had a job, paid taxes using his brand spanking new social security number, and generally passed as a functioning member of society.  That was all that mattered, really.  The feeling of being at sea on solid ground, well, only he had to know about that.  
  
His phone buzzed.  He tried not to think, finally, tried not to lunge for it.  It was probably Nicky or Sara or Jeremy, anyway.  Calmly, sedately, rationally, he picked it up and entered his passcode.    
  
 _I hate this week_  
  
Andrew.  Three dots appeared and he waited before replying.    
  
 _Do you have suggestions for how to kill someone without getting caught_  
  
He barked a laugh that scared King off his lap.  Oh, if only Andrew knew.  And if only his phone wasn’t monitored.  In his case, it wasn’t paranoia.  
  
 _Who needs killing_  
  
 _My fucking cousin.  He won’t leave me alone, wants me to have dinner with him tomorrow.  Again.  I just did this_  
  
 _Don’t think that merits murder, sorry.  Unless he’s that bad a cook_  
  
 _Look at you, all moral and shit_  
  
Neil grinned at his phone.  _I got roped into dinner with a friend tomorrow too.  I’ll sympathize from afar_  
  
 _I’ll flip you off from afar_  
  
 _Free Saturday?  You can flip me off in person_  
  
Three dots came up, disappeared, came up again.  _Have MBE course in the morning.  I’ll text after_  
  
 _K_  
  
Neil googled MBE course.  The Multistate Bar Exam.  Somehow when he was with Andrew he forgot he was still a student.  He pictured him actually trying cases, working a courtroom.  For some reason he had glasses in this scenario.  He got ready for bed picturing Andrew thundering, “You can’t handle the truth!” at some slimy arrogant old guy on the witness stand.  Then he pictured him drawing Neil’s own testimony out, his rich voice pulling the jury to his side, Lola or Jackson or Romero sitting stone-faced at the defendant’s table.  
  
When he slept, he dreamed of burning.  
  
*****  
  
Sara grinned at him when he sat down for lunch.  “Any word from copycat guy?” she asked.  
  
He looked up from his unappealing sandwich in confusion.  “Copycat guy?”  
  
“Coffee.  Cat.  Guy.  You haven’t mentioned him all week.”  
  
“There’s nothing to mention,” Neil said, tossing in a casual shrug.    
  
“Awww, that sucks,” Jeremy said around his mouthful of what passed for salad.  He always put a bizarre amount of avocado on his salad.  It was basically five lettuce leaves, a huge mound of avocado, and like two cherry tomatoes.  It had been bothering Neil for months.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I guess I just like the idea of you finding someone to be with.”  
  
Neil decided not to point out that he was actually more curious about the avocado-to-other-food ratio.    
  
“Leave the poor guy alone,” Jean said.  “If he wants to die alone and get eaten by his cat, that’s his business.”  
  
“Okay, first off, King would never.  Secondly, why is it such a big deal if I don’t want to fuck anyone?”  
  
“It’s not,” Sara said, suddenly looking sober.  The shift confused him even further.  She changed the subject to some big superhero movie that was coming out, and Neil was left wondering why everyone believed his lies but Andrew.  
  
*****  
  
Neil braced himself and pressed the buzzer.  Nicky’s shouted “Hey!” echoed in the entrance.    
  
“It’s, uh, Neil.”  The door buzzed and he let himself in.  
  
Nicky’s building was nice, it even had an elevator, not that Neil ever took it.  He jogged his way up the three flights and tapped the door.  Erik let him in with a big smile and firm handshake.  Neil thought idly that it was probably a good thing they couldn’t reproduce with each other.  The result would be like Jeremy on steroids, and the world wasn’t ready for that.  That level of sun-filled niceness would no doubt collapse onto itself to create some sort of niceness black hole, leaving behind only Trump and his supporters.  
  
Nicky was in the kitchen, wearing an apron with Kiss Me I’m Gay emblazoned across the front.  “Hey!  Neil!  So glad you could make it!  Erik, get this man a beer!”  
  
“I don’t really…” He trailed off as Erik handed him a beer.  Sighing, he took one sip, managed not to gag, then held the bottle loosely by the neck.  Nicky and Erik chattered at him, asking about work and King and if he was into some television show he’d never heard of.  He glanced around the apartment idly, then his eye caught on the dining table.  It was set for four.  
  
Shit.  
  
Nicky noticed his fixation and trailed off.  “Uh, Neil?”  
  
“Yeah?” Neil said, dragging his eyes away and wondering who the fuck he was going to have to spend two hours socializing with.  He could fake it pretty well but usually did best if he had some time to prepare.  
  
“Don’t freak out, okay, but I invited my cousin to dinner too.  He’s a good guy…”  Nicky grimaced slightly when Erik cleared his throat.  “No, he is, really.  I thought maybe you guys would hit it off.”  
  
“So…you’re setting me up.”  Nicky nodded; Neil was at least glad he was reading this correctly.  “With your cousin.”  Another nod.  “Who may or may not be a good guy, depending on which of you I ask.”    
  
“He really is,” Nicky said, in the voice of one who doth protest too much.  Neil glanced at Erik, whose skeptical shrug turned into a vigorous nod when Nicky glared at him.  
  
“Why would you think I want this?”  
  
There must have been a warning in his tone.  Nicky looked apologetic.  “It’s just, don’t you get lonely?”  
  
Yes.  “No, Nicky, I don’t.  I have enough busybodies in my life to keep me busy twenty-four-seven.”  He set his beer on the counter.  “Thank you for inviting me, but I think maybe we should do this another time.”  
  
He left to a cacophony of apologies.  Why did everyone he knew have such strong opinions about his life?  Is this what people were?  Just…incessantly obsessed with other people?  
  
By the time he hit the entrance hall he was running.  He crashed through the door, down the steps and right into a solid object that knocked him back on his ass.  Blinking, he saw legs in front of him.  “Sorry,” he gasped out.  
  
“I didn’t mean to spoil your getaway,” came a familiar amused voice.  A hand hovered in front of his face and he grabbed it, letting himself be hauled to his feet.  Andrew looked up at him, that one eyebrow raised.  “Anything you need to confess to before the police get here?  I am almost a lawyer, after all.”  
  
Neil laughed but he could feel himself flushing.  “I don’t need your services today, but I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”  Of course, if he actually committed a crime he’d need a lot more help than a not-quite-lawyer could provide.  Or any lawyer, for that matter.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  Andrew’s tone was so flat it wasn’t really a question.    
  
“Nothing.”  Neil almost laughed again at the fury that flared in Andrew’s eyes at the lie.  “Nothing serious,” he amended.  “It turns out my friend I was supposed to have dinner with just wanted to set me up with someone.”  
  
Andrew was rather good at keeping his face impassive, but his eyes always gave him away.  If he’d been angry before, he was livid now.  He didn’t move for a solid minute, then pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out.  Neil shook his head when Andrew held it out in silent offer, but inhaled deeply after Andrew blew out the first drag.  As always, the smell was grounding.  “Fucking Nicky,” Andrew muttered.    
  
“Wait.”  Neil looked at the five feet of fair-skinned blond before him, then up towards the third floor where dark-haired, brown-skinned, dark-eyed Nicky lived.  “Nicky’s your cousin?”  
  
“Yes, the meddling asshole is my cousin.”  
  
“You, uh, look literally nothing alike.”  
  
“Observant, aren’t you.”  Andrew took another drag, this time blowing the smoke out in rings.  Neil had never seen anybody do that in real life; he found himself reaching out, wanting to touch one.  “Nicky took after his mother’s side of the family.  She’s Mexican.”  
  
“Oh.”  He searched for something else to say.  “Do you want to go up?”  
  
Andrew ground out his cigarette.  “Do you?”  
  
“Not particularly, but he’s not my cousin.”  
  
“He’s been trying to hook me up for years.”  Andrew shook his head, looking disgusted.  “I keep telling him not to, and finally he promised me he’d stop.  For him to do it again, and not even inform you…”  
  
“I’m sure his intentions are good,” Neil offered.  
  
“Yeah, well, road to hell and all that.”  
  
They stood there for a moment, nearly shoulder to shoulder.  “Since this dinner is a no-go, do you want to come over?  I can make something.”  
  
Andrew gave him a look.  This time it was impossible to read.  “Can you cook?”  
  
“I mean, I’m no chef, but I can make edible food.”  Andrew snorted but started walking across the parking lot.  Neil followed.  “Did you drive?”  
  
“Took the subway.”  
  
“Same.”  There was a station less than a block from Nicky’s complex, and they went down the stairs and through the turnstiles in silence.  It wasn’t until they were on the train that Neil remembered.   
  
“Oh, shit.”  Andrew looked at him in wordless question.  “I have literally no food in my apartment.  I mean, I have oatmeal and an overripe banana, but that’s it.”  
  
“That’s disgusting,” Andrew commented.    
  
“Well, I was planning on going shopping tomorrow.”  
  
“How the fuck did you survive this long?”  Neil laughed; there was no other response to give.  If only Andrew knew… He wondered if Andrew would withdraw, if he would be as appalled by the scars littering his body, his legacy of blood and death, as Neil was himself.  
  
“My apartment’s one stop past yours.”  It wasn’t much of an invitation, but Neil took it.  Andrew’s phone pinged a few times on the trip, but he didn’t bother to pull it out and check it.  By the time they got off the train, Neil was practically twitching, wanting to pull Andrew’s phone out and check it himself.  
  
The apartment was little larger than his own, but it was full of Andrew.  Abstract photographs hung on the walls, there was a desk overflowing with books in one corner, books in a heap next to the couch, and a peek through the open bedroom door showed books stacked next to the bed high enough to serve as a nightstand.  Andrew’s obese gray and white cat sauntered out, looked at Neil with undisguised scorn, then wove between Andrew’s legs with authoritative meows.  Andrew opened a can for him and dumped it on a plate then set it on the floor.  The cat ate with a single-minded intensity that King had never demonstrated, then planted himself in the center of the tiny kitchen.    
  
Watching Andrew cook was an experience.  He moved through the kitchen like breathing, working around the cat like he was a permanent fixture, handling the knives as an extension of his own hands.  When the food was done they sat with their plates on the couch, the only viable option aside from the floor.  The cat joined them, sitting between them and sniffing hopefully in the direction of Neil’s plate.  “Sir,” Andrew said sternly.  Sir folded his legs and tucked himself into a loaf, occasionally shooting Neil glares.  
  
“I don’t think your cat likes me much,” Neil said.  
  
“Your cat made herself invisible the whole time I was there.”  
  
True.  The spaghetti was…delicious, actually.  Neil wasn’t sure why he was surprised, but he was happy to be able to check one of the “what makes a guy hot” boxes on the mental list he’d made after his google search.    
  
Halfway through the meal, Andrew’s phone rang.  He picked up without looking at it.  “What.”  Neil set down his fork to listen.  “I forgot.  Yes, really.  I’ve been busy.”  Whoever was on the other end must have been ranting because Andrew rolled his eyes and shoveled a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth.  “I just saw you five days ago.  No, I’m not going to start going to the gym in the afternoon.”  Nicky then, Neil guessed.  “I don’t care.  I said I don’t care.  I don’t need you to set me up, even if you did find the ultimate twink fantasy.”  Neil frowned, wondering what that meant.  He pulled his phone out and started to search but Andrew snatched it away and shook his head.  Nicky was still talking on the other end when Andrew ended the call and dropped the phone on the coffee table.  “Don’t google that,” Andrew warned Neil, deleting the search and tossing the phone back at him.  
  
Neil set his phone down with a shrug.  He could just look it up later.  A thousand questions were bubbling up: why Erik didn’t care for Andrew; why Nicky was so determined to set Andrew up with someone, and himself, for that matter.  Why that fact had stopped bothering him as soon as he realized Nicky wanted to set him up with Andrew.  Why they had known each other for less than a week and Andrew felt like part of himself.  
  
“Stop.”    
  
Neil looked up at Andrew’s missive.  “What?”  
  
“Whatever you’re thinking, I can smell your brain smoking.”  
  
Neil hummed and picked the easiest question.  “I was just wondering why everyone thinks I’m gay.”  Andrew’s eyes glimmered and Neil couldn’t tell if it was from amusement or exasperation.  “I mean, the people at work, and Nicky…”  
  
“From what you told me, it sounds like at least one person at work was betting against it.”  
  
“Right.  Jean.”  
  
“Is Jean straight?”  Neil looked at him blankly.  “Straight people always assume everyone else is straight, and queer people want everyone else to be queer.  It colors everyone’s perceptions.”  
  
Neil had no idea if Jean was gay or straight or bi or whatever.  He was almost as quiet as Neil.  Sometimes Neil wondered if it was because they spent all their time surrounded by other people’s words, if that sucked away any words of their own.  For some reason that idea made him shiver.  But he knew it wasn’t true, at least not for him.  He had always had plenty of words of his own, milling around inside his head like the caged bear he had once seen at a zoo as a child.  Restless and yearning.  “What about you?”  
  
The look of disbelief Andrew gave him almost made him grin.  “I thought you were queer because you got into an argument with a stranger about gender identity then slipped me your phone number.  This is not something straight dudes do.”  
  
That was probably true.  “I took a course on gender politics.  It ended up being nothing like what I expected, but it was interesting.”  
  
They had finished eating, and Neil didn’t know what he was supposed to do.  Whenever he’d hung out with Nicky and Erik, or with people from work, they were always doing something.  Watching movies or trivia night or playing board games.  But then Andrew asked him about the gender politics course, and Neil answered him.  The next thing he knew, it was close to midnight and his voice was getting hoarse and he felt better than he had in…well, ever, really.    
  
He didn’t understand it.  It seemed like all he and Andrew did was talk; Neil had never spoken so much when it wasn’t part of his job.  Maybe that was the magic of Andrew.  He set Neil’s words free.

**Author's Note:**

> The feedback for this series has been incredible! I can't tell you all how much I appreciate your comments! Please let me know if you think I need to add any warnings to this fic (or any others as I go along), or up the rating.


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